


Kaleidoscope

by Rena



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rena/pseuds/Rena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"At the height of laughter, the universe is flung into a kaleidoscope of new possibilities." Drabble-collection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. # 389: Whispers in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> The prompts are taken from the LJ community 500_themes.

There are some things which must be proclaimed loudly, resolutely, by screaming them over the rooftops, to make people understand that you mean them. And then there are some things that must never be uttered loudly, lest they lose their enchantment, their beauty, their meaning.

Sometimes, a whisper is so much more than a boisterous declaration could ever be.

Personally, Magnus has always preferred the latter, though. He has always enjoyed telling the world what he thinks, what he does, whom he loves. Especially whom he loves. It is a way of marking that person, telling everyone _he belongs to me, don't you dare touch him, he's mine, don't even look at him like that, you can't have him, he's_ _mine._

Alec is different. He is a quiet, shut-down person, and if there is one thing he despises then it's being in the centre of attention, having everyone look at him, and public displays of affection. It makes him feel uncomfortable and he clams up so much that he hardly manages to produce a single word.

The first time he tells Magnus he loves him is, consequently, when no one else is around. He is lying in Magnus's arms late at night, absentmindedly running his fingers through the for once not spiked-up hair and then, when Magnus is at the brink of falling asleep, he whispers the words so quietly that Magnus isn't sure whether he has said anything at all. But there is the feeling of his warmth breath against his skin and the smile tugging at the corner of his lips and the surprised and nervous and exhilarated flutter in his chest and in this night Magnus is the happiest man on earth.

At first, it irritates Magnus, though, that Alec won't say these three words, _I love you_ , openly.

And then he understands.

Alec is saving them, these precious words, for their most intimate moments. He saves them for him, and him alone. It is not a secret he tries to keep, but a truth that belongs only to them, a sacred treasure. They do not need to share it with the world. They share it with each other, and the darkness of the night.

And the whispers resound through the world.


	2. #66 Why they call it falling

Alec has never understood why people call this sentiment _falling_ in love, when in reality he doesn't feel like he's falling at all. On the contrary, if he'd be falling, then he would be falling upwards, and now that is not like falling at all. It's rather like floating, flying, feeling high and elated, which has nothing to do with the bad connotations associated with the word _falling_ , because being in love is wonderful and falling isn't; the concept of falling suggests that you get hurt.

And then he realises that maybe this is the very same reason why people call it falling.

Because love makes you vulnerable, and you will be hurt.

Because falling suggests that it is something you cannot control, and no one knows better than Alec that you cannot control who you fall in love with.

And the higher you fly, the deeper you fall.


	3. #254 Defying gravity

"You know, there is one thing I've always wondered," Alec said slowly. "How do you do it?"

"How do I do what?" Magnus asked, only sparing him a short glance before continuing to zap through the channels with a flick of his fingers.

"Your hair."

Now Alec had Magnus's full attention. "My hair?" he repeated rather dumbly. Alec had never asked him about his hair before, so although he always appreciated Alec showing only the slightest interest in things like make-up, fashion or hairstyles, he had to admit it caught him off guard.

"You hair," Alec confirmed.

Magnus's eyebrow rose slowly. "What's with it?"

"Well," Alec waved his hands vaguely, like he always did when he was searching for the right words, "the spikes."

Magnus waited patiently for him to continue, but apparently that was all the information he was going to get. The second eyebrow rose to join to first one, until they both rested quite comfortably right below the line of his aforementioned hair. Of which he was still unsure what role it was supposed to play in this conversation. "Yes," said Magnus, as if he was talking to a three year-old child rather than his eighteen-year-old boyfriend, "my hair is spiked up."

"I know that." Alec rolled his eyes. "But how do you do it?"

Magnus blinked. "Well, I...spike it up?" Slowly but surely, he was beginning to questions Alec's sanity. Maybe Maryse had dropped him one too many times when he was a baby. He certainly wouldn't put it past her. It would explain the level of insanity running in the family.

"You're using magic, aren't you?"

Magnus blinked again, more rapidly this time. "What makes you think that?"

"It shouldn't be physically possible," Alec pointed out. "You know, there should be gravity pulling it down or something. It shouldn't be able to stay like this for hours, not even with insane amounts of sprayhair or whatever this stinking stuff is called. It's a physical wonder."

Magnus grinned. "I know my hair is wonderful, but really, sweetheart, you don't expect me to reveal my most intimate hairdo secrets to you, do you? And it's hairspray, by the way."

Alec scoffed. "Your most intimate hairdo secrets?" he echoed. "Come on, that's just ridiculous."

"Not at all," Magnus replied. "What if I tell you and you go and tell your sister, and by tomorrow everyone will be able to copy my unique hairstyle, and I'll have to watch Izzy or, the Angel forbid, Jace run around looking like my fabulous self? No way!"

"You're an overly exorbitant drama queen," Alec determined.

"That I am not," Magnus huffed. "And I am not telling you. Now, however, if you want me to do your hair then-"

"Uh, thanks, but no thanks," Alec interrupted him hastily. "I'll pass."

"What a shame. A nice haircut would do you good. And maybe a couple of blue streaks, to match the colour of your eyes...now, come on, don't give me that look, at least I didn't contemplate pink-"

The horrified look on Alec's face was definitely worth it.


	4. #133 Don't you dare!

"Magnus." Alec's tone was decisive.

"Yes, my love?" Magnus piped, way too cheerily for the Shadowhunter's taste. And way too innocent. Whenever Magnus tried to sound innocent, he was usually up to something. And that something usually resulted in Alec either making a complete fool out of himself or being throughoutly embarrassed and/or humiliated.

He had known he'd try this one day.

"Don't. Even. Think. About. It." Alec said through his teeth, accentuating every single word to underline his irritation and fortify his warning.

Magnus batted his eyelashes innocently. "Don't think about what?"

"Stop acting all ignorant. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"I'm afraid I don't. Please elaborate what you think I am thinking," Magnus said, the small, wicked smile tugging at the corners of his lips the only indication that he was lying – and enjoying this immensely.

Of course he did. One day, Alec vowed, he would retaliate by dumping a bucket of slimy water and rotten fish over his head, just for the hell of it. Alternatively, he could burn all of Magnus's clothes. Or feed his glitter to Chairman Meow. Come to think of it, the latter was probably the best revenge, because it would also solve his problem, if only for a little while. It would be like killing two birds with one stone.

The only drawback was that Magnus's thirst for vengeance would be unfathomable, and he'd probably need to stay away from his boyfriend for a while.

But, well, maybe it would be worth it.

"Get your fingers out of my hair."

Magnus pouted. "But you _like_ it when I play with your hair!" he exclaimed.

"Not when you are hiding a can of glitter in your other hand, undoubtedly planning to smear it into my hair when you think I am not watching."

The warlock tensed, and then let out a heavy sigh. "Damn those Shadowhunter perceptive faculties. I am never dating a Nephilim again."

"Yeah, well, suck it up," Alec rolled his eyes.

"Are you sure you won't let me-"

"No."

"Not even a little bit?"

"Magnus," Alec threatened, "if you don't put that glitter away _right now_ and get your fingers away from my hair, you will lose a limb or two."

"You are no fun at all," Magnus sulked, completely ignoring Alec's threat.

"Again, suck it up," Alec said, unimpressed by his boyfriend's whining. "You knew what you signed up for when you started dating me." And with that, he turned his attention back to the book he was reading.

That turned out to be a horrible, horrible mistake.

Really, he ought to have known better.

All that could be heard outside was a crashing sound and a loud, indignant squeak, followed by Magnus's roaring laughter and Alec's profuse cussing.

Tomorrow, Alec decided, Chairman Meow would feast on Magnus's favourite glitter, and he just hoped the cat would hack it all up on his pink sofa.


	5. #179 I hate love

Magnus stared at the door for what felt like an eternity after it had closed behind the young Shadowhunter. Then, with a sigh, he slumped back onto his favourite tufted ottoman and groaned, burying his head in his hands.

"I hate falling in love," he said miserably.

"Mrrow?"

Taking a glimpse through his fingers, Magnus caught sight of Chairman Meow sitting on the floor in front of him, tilting his head and staring up at him with a somewhat bemused and worried expression. At least that was what Magnus thought he looked like. Chairman Meow only had three other facial expressions: a death glare for whenever he was angry or didn't get what he wanted, cute puppy eyes when pleading for something he wanted, and an expression of extreme delight and contentment when he was being cuddled, and since none of those other expressions applied, he Magnus liked to indulge in the thought that his cat was caring about him.

"I know, I like him, too." Magnus raked his hands through his hair.

The cat only looked even more confused now. "Mrrow?"

"What my problem is?" Magnus asked. "My problem is that I _know_ I will fall head over heels for this boy, and it will most likely end in a disaster."

"Mrrow?"

Sighing, Magnus picked up the small tabby cat and cradled it in his arms. "Why? Do you really have to ask that? Look at him – he is a Shadowhunter, and underage, and still in the closet. These aren't exactly the best conditions for a relationship. And I think he has a thing for his brother, too."

Chairman Meow let out an indignant screech when Magnus accidentally tightened his grip too much, but the warlock was so lost in thought he didn't even notice it.

"Yes, I am aware that I should better stay away from him," he said, as if it was an answer to the cat's noises. "I know this won't work out. But he is _adorable_." Cautiously, he lifted the cat to eye-level and gave Chairman a scrutinizing look. "What do you think? Go to the date or cancel it?"

"Mrrow."

"Are you sure?"

"Mrrow."

"...well then. But don't complain when you have to endure my mood swings if this shouldn't work out."

Chairman Meow let out a vicious hiss.

Magnus just rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't be such a diva. _I_ put up with _your_ mood swings _all the time_ , too, and I still give you food. Really, sometimes I don't know why I put up with you. Ouch! Stop scratching me, Chairman! That's it – no catnip today. Ouch!"


	6. #122 Mysterious Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically a prequel to "Letters from Nowhere". AU.

When people talk about their favourite places, they often list locations like the following:

Home. The little café by the river. That little cove where I first met the love of my life, and where you can watch the most beautiful sunset ever. My bed. The park. Tanzania. The mall. My best friend's house. On stage.

Or something like that.

To Alec Lightwood, the greatest place on earth was the library.

That, of course, astonished most people, especially given his age. Not many teenagers were found roaming the narrow aisles on a nigh-daily basis. He did. In fact, Alec spent so much time in the city library that not only every single employee knew him by name (and, amazed by his knowledge about, interest in and love for books, purposely looked away when he brought a cup of coffee, which was usually utterly forbidden, as if people were desecrating a sanctuary), but his sister Isabelle also joked that he could just as well take a blanket with him and make his home there, since he practically lived in the library anyway.

When asked why he loved the library so much, Alec would only shrug, because if he was honest, he didn't really know it himself. Maybe it was the scent of leather-bound books, or the sound of crinkling paper whenever someone turned a page, or the reverential silence that hovered over it all. Maybe it was the appeal of countless worlds that you could lose yourself in, be far away, be someone else, be whoever you wanted to be.

Another factor was probably that he actually liked to read, which was nearly impossible to do at home. Jace and Izzy had the bad habit of playing pranks on the other and then running around the house, chasing each other while screaming bloody murder like banshees, which made concentrating on books somewhat difficult. Alec loved his siblings dearly, but sometimes (or almost all the time, really) it was just nice to be away from them a bit. However, as Jace said, if he kept going at that rate, he would soon have read every single book in this library except for the travel guides and books on handcraft and gardening – and then he'd either have to find a new library with different books, or buy new ones himself. Or, God beware, accept Jace's offer to introduce him to pornographic material, but he'd rather eat Isabelle's self-made fish soup again than doing _that_.

Alec shuddered, and decided it would be best to dismiss that thought as quickly as possible. He walked over to the counter, greeted Abigail, who was on shift today, with a weak smile and opened his bag to fish for the books he was supposed to return when a flash of colour in the corner of his eyes caught his attention.

And then he nearly dropped his bag altogether.

The man – boy, teenager, whatever – who had entered and was now – there was really no other word for it – _strutting_ towards him was definitely not something one could easily miss, and Alec was vaguely aware of several heads turning into his direction. Not only was he exceptionally tall, even taller than Alec, which rarely ever happened, and at least part Asian, but he was also dressed to kill: Black leather pants, knee-high boots, a radiant turquoise shirt that hung close to his body, adumbrating a set of nicely toned muscles underneath. His jet black hair was spiked into a halo and highlighted with equally turquoise and somewhat glittering streaks.

In a very, very far corner of his mind – one that wasn't just preoccupied with ogling and mentally undressing the stranger - a small voice told Alec that he was staring, and that that was a very rude behaviour. He only remembered to shut his mouth, though, when the boy –really, he couldn't be that much older than Alec was – walked past and, obviously amused, _winked_ at him. Instantly, Alec felt a familiar rush of heat shooting up to his cheeks, and he knew he was blushing like hell. Damn his mother's genes for his fair complexion where the red colour was even more obvious.

"Now," Abigail said, still watching the man with an expression akin to shock on her face until he disappeared in one of the aisles, "this is not something you get to see every day."

"That's a way of putting it, I guess" Alec mumbled, and proceeded to push the books towards her.

The middle-aged woman sighed. "Oh well. If I just were younger...I have to admit, he is quite the looker. Shame he probably swings the other way, though..."

 _Probably_ didn't even begin to cover it, if you asked for Alec's opinion, but he was not feeling up to discussing the man's sexuality or looks with the nosy librarian, so he quickly excused himself and darted off to the farthest aisle possible.

As he searched the shelves for the book he was looking for, his mind kept on wandering back to the man. Although Alec had never seen him before, and apparently neither had Abigail, who had been working here for almost thirty years, the man seemed to know exactly where he had to go, which, considering the size and mazelike structure of the library, was a surprise. Most people had trouble finding the right section, and only few knew their way around it really well. Absentmindedly, Alec wondered what section the boy was in now. Kitschy romance novels? Or checking the magazines for the latest gossip and fashion tips? Cookbooks? He snickered inwardly at the mental image of the boy wearing an apron and pulled out a copy of Shakespeare's _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ , adding it to the already rapidly growing stack under his arm.

"Shakespeare, Tolstoy, Wilde...nice. The classic type. You've got good taste," a silky, deep voice sounded next to him.

Alec wheeled around quickly and found himself face to face with the object of his musings, leaning casually against the shelf and gazing at him with a small smile on his face from the most captivating green eyes he had ever seen.

"Uh. Thanks, I guess," Alec said after he had recuperated from the shock. Damn, he hadn't even heard him coming.

The boy's smile grew a little wider. "You know, I've always thought that the greatest appeals of old books are the bindings of the old versions and the parchment. Not something so cheap and poor quality like that. It's a shame, really, to see how tattered and worn out they are."

Alec shrugged. He wasn't exactly sure why the boy was talking to him and he just hoped he wouldn't call him out on his earlier staring, but he seemed to be genuinely interested in books, and that was all Alec needed. "I agree, but, well, that's just not how books are bound anymore nowadays, unfortunately."

"That's why I always try to get a hold of well-preserved old versions. These books deserve so much better than that," the boy said, waving a dismissive hand at the books Alec was holding. "My personal favourites are Shakespeare's Complete Works in twelve volumes, in blue leather binding with golden engravings, Antiqua script, from the late seventeenth century."

Alec found himself staring again. "You own something like that? Really? That must have cost a fortune, even in a second-hand bookshop!" he exclaimed.

The boy shook his head. "It didn't cost that much. It's just been in my possession a long time."

Alec blinked. "Like, a family heirloom?" he asked.

A small frown appeared on the stranger's forehead. "Yes, I guess you could say that, in a way." Then, all of a sudden, the frown was gone and the smile was as radiant as ever. "Would you like to see it?"

"Wow," Alec said, snickering, "this just sounded like a variation of 'would you like to see my stamp-collection'. Wait-" he stopped abruptly. "You're not hitting on me, are you?"

"Only if you want me to," the boy declared, his smile turning decidedly wicked, causing Alec's heart to skip a beat. "I'm Magnus, by the way," he added swiftly, saving Alec from actually having to find an answer to that statement.

"Alec," he replied and took the extended hand. The boy – Magnus – was wearing nail polish, he noticed. He really couldn't have been more obvious with showing off his orientation. It looked good on him, though, as Alec had to admit. "Pleasure to meet you."

Magnus grinned. "The pleasure's all mine," he said. "So, if you ever do decide that you do want to be introduced to my fabulous private library, here's my address. Just come over whenever you feel like it. I'd be _delighted_." He winked again, pressed a folded piece of paper into Alec's hand and disappeared as fast as he had come.


	7. #413 Heart within the eyes

When asked what part of Alec he loved the most – aside from all his personal qualities, of course – Magnus would always say "his eyes".

He knows this is probably the most cliché type of answer he could give (isn't that what everyone says?), but the thing is...

The thing is, it is true.

And it's not because Alec has the bluest eyes he has ever seen. It's because Alec is a shut-down person, someone who hides his feelings so well, from everyone, even from himself, that it is usually hard to tell whether he is happy or angry or sad.

But while his face remains expressionless, his eyes never are. The truth is, Magnus has always prided himself on having an extraordinary knowledge of the human nature, of understanding every creature in the world with ease, but sometimes, the young Nephilim is still a mystery to him. But watching his eyes helps him _understand._ People say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and with Alec, that's exactly what they are. His dark blue orbs always swirl with emotion, revealing his innermost thoughts and feelings to the observant spectator.

There is so much _life_ in Alec's eyes that it makes Magnus's heart ache.


	8. #173 Battling oblivion

He caresses the edges of the worn out material gently, almost lovingly, his fingers tracing the lines he knows so well. The colours have faded, making the picture look dim and blurry, a relic from other, better times. Times he wished he could relive, to cherish them, to make sure he wouldn't waste any single second, not even a blink of an eye.

But there is no going back.

And no matter what he does, time slips through his fingers, and with time, so do his memories. No matter of how hard he tries, he cannot hold onto his love, he cannot make him stay. With every day that passes, the colours fade a little more, and his memories disappear, evaporating like smoke in thin air.

When he looks around, nothing has changed in the almost three hundred years since Alec passed away. He hasn't dared to move a single thing, turning his flat into a shrine with the sole purpose of ensuring he would never forget. Alec's mug is still sitting on the kitchen counter, exactly where he left it. His books still fill the shelves, and the shirt he had carelessly thrown over the chair in front of his desk is still hanging there.

His entire flat is filled with Alec, but even so, he cannot make him stay.

He remembers, dimly, that shortly after his death, he used to sleep in Alec's old sweaters, wearing his clothes all the time, just to take his love with him wherever he went. It was the only way he was able to sleep, back then, breathing in the familiar, deep scent. He hadn't realised that the more he wore them, the more Alec's scent would vanish, replaced by his own, until there was nothing left. He remembers having a breakdown upon understanding that he couldn't make it linger, that it was yet another part of Alec he has lost forever. It doesn't matter much, anymore. Nowadays, he is usually too exhausted to even sleep.

He is even too exhausted be shocked when he realises that unless he is looking at that one old, tattered photograph that is the only real thing he has left, he cannot remember the outlines of Alec's face anymore. He cannot remember the sound of his laughter. He cannot remember the softness of his lips against his skin.

The only feeling left inside of him is that destructive mixture of loneliness and longing that has taken over every fibre of his being.

All his memories have been covered by a thick, impenetrable foggy cloak, and Magnus just wants it all to end. He is so, so tired of fighting his own, forgetful mind, the oblivion that creeps up upon him. He just wants it to be over, to see his love again, but he can't, because he promised Alec he'd live on. It's the hardest thing he has ever done, and he is probably already breaking his promise, because he isn't living, he is merely existing, but he tries not to disappoint him.

So he goes on, and on, and on, and tries to fight the oblivion with the little means he has, trying to ensure his memories don't fade away completely, although it hurts more than anything, although he knows it's hopeless.

He will wait, patiently, tired and broken, until the end comes to set him free.


End file.
